One Time They Both Did
by Wandererzaehler
Summary: This is me messing around with the whole soul-mate thing, taking away Merlin's immortality and employing a rebirth-circle for our favourite Warlock and his ladylove. Following the rules of "three times they didn't, one time they did". / Features a summary which sucks, missed chances, some blood and- naturally (this is me, after all) - a happy ending. Enjoy!


_**A/N:** This is me messing around with the whole soul-mate thing, taking away Merlin's immortality and employing a rebirth-circle. _

_Every historical event(s) you might think_ _you recognise is (are) of course not coincidentally chosen. I've also included two lines out of my favourite Merlin-fanvideo (Merlin/Some die young by SmartisAngel98_ _[sadly, I have no idea who's the Artist performing the song])._

 _But, to be completely honest, I have no idea what_ _exactly_ _happened here._

 _H_ _ope you enjoy anyway!_

* * *

 **Three Times one of them didn't**

One

Marie could hear them enter the courtyard. There were yells, and shooting, and the screams of men dying. Trembling she tried to retreat further into the wardrobe she'd hidden in, but there was no more room. She had accompanied her father, against her mother's wishes, to be of help to her namesake, the Queen, and because she'd been feeling confined at home. Now she wished she'd never come here – the royal family had fled, and the crazed men were attacking. The Guard was loosing, that much she knew, so when she'd lost her father in the turmoil, she'd hid in the nearest place she could find in a feeble attempt to do something, anything, that might save her life.

The shooting came nearer and nearer, and Marie closed her eyes, even though it was pitch-black in the wardrobe anyway. _Shut it out. Don't feel it. It's not real. I'm safe at home._

Miraculously, the men passed her by, but even while she breathed a sigh of relief, she heard someone crying desperately close by. There was a moment in which Marie was absolutely convinced she would not open the door of the wardrobe no matter what, but then the crying ceased, and the silence afterwards was unbearable. It forced her out of hiding.

The wardrobe's door slowly swung open, and Marie tumbled out in a mess of skirt and underskirts. She smoothed the crinkles out of her dress routinely and absent-mindedly while she looked around. It wasn't hard to find the person she had heard crying: It was one of the Guard, slumped against the wall. He pressed his fingers against a wound in his lower abdomen, but even so blood was pouring out of it. His face was pale, and Marie suddenly simply _knew_ he was going to die. The man – no, the boy, rather, for he was just about her age, had his head leant back and his eyes were closed.

Marie hurried over to him and knelt down by his side, wondering distantly why she wasn't trembling any more and why she felt so calm and not in the least like throwing up, despite the blood and her fear.

The boy had started to cry silently again, oblivious to her presence, and Marie, following her instincts, covered his bloodied hands with hers to apply as much pressure to the wound as their joined strength could. The moment their fingers touched, the boy startled, inhaled sharply and opened his eyes wide.

"I know it hurts", Marie said as gentle as she could and felt tears running down her cheeks, "I'm sure there'll be help soon. Just hold on..."

"Morgana?", he asked, and when Marie looked up, she found his piercingly blue eyes fixed on her face with a look of sheer disbelief. Before she could figure out what to say, his gaze became unsteady. The boy's fingers twitched beneath her hands, and his whole body trembled for a moment – and then he was gone.

When the revolutionaries returned, they found the boy and Marie still by his side, her face tear-streaked and confused. She didn't even try to run when they reloaded their weapons.

* * *

Two

It was a cold and rainy night when Albert returned back to the tent. He had been away for three days to get supplies in the town close by. Shep, his dog, lifted his head and watched him intently in distrust, but as soon as he heard his master's voice, his tail began to wag eagerly. "Good boy", Albert smiled and fondly petted him.

He entered the tent, careful not to make too much noise with the fabric, and got rid of his coat and hat. With a bit of groping he found the matches and the lamp she had set out for him.

A few minutes later he had undressed himself and went over to the bed, taking the present for her with him. It was a silk shawl in a deep red colour and it had costed a fortune – almost all his earnings of the last two weeks and ten hours of work with the pan everyday, but he knew she'd love it from the moment he saw it in the window. She'd scold him, of course, for not getting the coffee, or sugar, or his favourite pipe-weed, but she wouldn't be mad for long, and there was a lot more gold in the river still.

Smiling, Albert laid the wrapped-up shawl beside her clothes where she'd find it in the morning, and then went over to the blankets.

She was sleeping peacefully, unaware of the bad weather or his return. She smiled, and he wondered what she might be dreaming of now. Back at home her dreams had never been peaceful or quiet, he remembered, and felt a pang of guilt. Kneeling down by his wife's side, he kissed her forehead and whispered: "Happy Birthday, Annie." And when she didn't react at all, he added, even softer and only for his own sake, "Happy Birthday, Morgana."

He doused the oil lamp's flame and crawled in between the blankets, as close to Annie as he could, trying not to think of chances long gone and possibilities unused.

* * *

Three

When Sarah received the telegram, she knew. She wasn't even surprised, really: It was what she had expected all along. He had promised to come back, but the moment he got on the train she had known this was a promise he couldn't keep. Thomas was a good husband, and an even better father, but he was too good a man to risk someone else's life by trying to get back home. He would always put others first.

Back in Camelot, he had been the same. Reckless when necessary, when she or Arthur or one of their friends was in danger, and she had always been afraid she might loose him because he was a better person than she could ever be. She had loved him for this so much. She still did.

"Mummy?", Gwen asked, her blue eyes – her father's – fixed intently on Sarah's face which was even paler than usual.

"It's all right, honey, I won't be a moment."

She fled from the room, because by now her eyes were stinging with tears.

War was cruel, and unfair, and though the means with which people had tried to obtain power over each other had changed drastically over the centuries, this fact had never changed. She tried and failed to remember why she herself had been raging war against her own brother once – she hadn't been that different then than she was now, had she? Or maybe – maybe it had been Merlin all along in whose power her happiness was lying.

She read the telegram once and wished she could let it burst to flames in her hands without so much as a glance, holding on to the burning paper until it had all crumbled to ashes and tumbled down to the floor, but of course she couldn't. She never could, because she was not whole, and never again would be without him.

 _We regret to inform you that your husband..._

When she turned around, Gwen was standing in the doorway, her baby brother on her hip, silently crying. Sarah hurried over and enfolded her children in her arms, pushing down her own emotions, because that was what he would've done. This time, she would try to be as strong as he had been, for the sake of her children. _Their_ children.

He might not have remembered his previous life, but Morgana did: And she always would. She would tell his story to their children and keep his memory as best as she could.

* * *

 **One Time they both did**

The bell above the coffee shop's door jingled when she entered. Breathing in deeply the smell of coffee and various teas, she hurried over to the counter. It was early in the morning, just past the shop's opening time, and there weren't many customers assembled yet.

Morgana was, as always nowadays, in a hurry. She had slept badly, again, and was in desperate need of caffeine, or otherwise she wouldn't make it through her shift at the hospital. Trying to free her purse from her too tightly packed back, she ran into someone, stumbled and would've fallen if the someone hadn't caught her and steadied her.

"Watch where you're going, lady!", the guy said, smiled at her, and winked. Morgana thanked him quietly and continued her way to the counter, careful now, still feeling the blush of embarrassment burning on her cheeks.

Kathy, the usual Barista, wasn't there. Instead there was a young, gangly man preparing the order of a wide-eyed girl while smiling at her charmingly and chatting away like it wasn't four o'clock in the morning.

Morgana stopped, and blinked, her order and the stuck purse forgotten while she gaped at the man with her mouth open.

 _A_ _fter so many year_ _s,_ she thought dazedly.

The Barista slid the girl's cup over the counter and turned to Morgana: "How may I help - "

He, too, froze, and stared, and shook his head, and stared some more.

Time seemed to slow down while they looked each other and memories, long forgotten, resurfaced all at once, in a whirl of colour and voices and feelings, power re-flooded their bodies.

A shiver went down Morgana's spine, and the Barista – _Merlin –_ shook his head once more. The smile returned to his face again, this time a bit forced, and his eyes were wary: "What can I get you?"

Morgana decided this wasn't the time to ask whether he had experienced the same she had, and answered: "I'd like a mocha, please."

His face fell, but he nodded. While he was already turning in the direction of the machines, Morgana reached over and caught his arm: "And I'd like your phone number, e-mail address, proper address, your Facebook alias and the exact second you're done with your shift, _Merlin_."

He startled, turned back around, grabbed her hand, squeezed it hard and gave her that dazzling smile she so loved – and she knew that _finally_ everything would be well.


End file.
